


A Shift in Reality

by kesomon



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Memory Tampering, Subtle crossovers, identity theft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2007-05-17
Updated: 2007-05-17
Packaged: 2018-05-26 12:30:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6239386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kesomon/pseuds/kesomon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Since the events in Farrinham and what happened with the Family, the Doctor's been restless. Splitting headaches, blackouts, and the same phantom memory, speaking the same unfinished request. Just what is going on?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Shift in Identity

**Author's Note:**

> AU, post- Human Nature, but combining the TV and book!verse.
> 
> Characterization for the Master and Martha's dynamic is heavily influenced by [Not Dark Yet](http://www.whofic.com/series.php?seriesid=2), a series by Jaconda on Teaspoon & An Open Mind.
> 
> Originally posted to FFN 5/17/2007. Edited for spelling mistakes but otherwise posted in its original format.

It began three weeks after the events in Farringham.

The first time, he was in the console room. The lights were dimmed, the TARDIS settling in for the night period to coincide with Martha's internal clock. She was asleep, safe and sound and dreaming in her bed, and he was under the floor, doing what he did best to pass the time.

He reached his hand up, wandering aimlessly for the toolbox, but never quite finding it. The ache began behind his eyes, blurring his vision slightly, and he blinked, pausing to rub his fingers across his temple. Flickers of memory danced like stars across his eyes, a phantom of a voice.

_"... promise me one thing, please. Don't let..."_

And then it was gone. His brow furrowed, and an involuntary shiver ran through his skin, as he picked a new tool from the box, and returned to work.

 

The second time, he was on a planet, about to be executed. The smell of iron and ozone and dust assailed his nostrils as he looked out at the crowds, catching Martha's eye. She was waiting for the signal, waiting to leap into action with the other rebels and free him and the others from an unjust death.

The sun beat down, making his eyes sting with the brightness. A low, dull throb began pulsing in his temples, and to his surprise, he felt himself wince. He shut his eyes against the light, and sucked in a painful breath, as sparks of nerve-light spat in front of his vision, bringing the memories again.

_"I don't think we're going to make it out of this one, old friend..."_

_"Don't say that..."_

_"It's truth, though... promise me one thing, please. Don't let..."_

And then it was gone again. The dust was in his eyes and the sun still shone and the milling crowds had turned into a panicked frenzy of revolution and someone was unlocking the heavy shackles from his neck and wrists. He grinned broadly, infected by the victorious cries, and allowed one of the other prisoners to hug him joyously, while all the while, his stomach twisted in knots of disgust.

 

The third time came unexpected and fierce. He had taken Martha to a banquet on Lantea in the Pegasus Galaxy, and the Alterans were more then gracious to accept them as guests; he one of their oldest allies, she one of their descendants.

He never felt the fork leave his hand, clattering back onto the plate before him as he hissed, crushing a palm against his left temple as stabbing, fiery bolts of pain lanced through his head. His consciousness registered the sudden, alarmed exclamations, and the warmth of human hands holding him steady in his chair through the fabric of his suit. All he could focus on were the lights, blinding his eyes the tighter he held them shut.

_Hands pulled the body to the sidelines,, hands covered in blood, the smell of burnt fuses and copper in his nose as he held on, the weight in his arms growing heavier as the air filled with a terrible cacophony of warning klaxons._

_"I don't think we're going to make it out of this one, old friend..."_

_"Don't say that..." His voice choked, trying to force a semblance of hope into the despair in his hearts._

_"It's truth, though... promise me one thing, please. Don't let..."_

And it was gone. His eyes snapped open, meeting concerned faces and the hushed banquet hall. He heard someone breathing heavily – it took a moment to realize it was him. Stilling the shake of his hand, he accepted a cup of water, and waved Martha's worried questions off. It had just been a headache, nothing more. She looked hurt, though, he recalled later – perhaps he had been too tetchy in his response.

 

It happened again the night of the election. The TARDIS was safely parked in an alley around the corner from Martha's flat. Martha had left, gone to spend the night with her family in celebration of the big event. The Doctor had stayed behind, not wanting to get in the way and be forced into domestics. There was nothing alien about a PM election.

The television was on, but muted; the scenes rapidly flicked past without volume as he worked on a nondescript piece of circuitry on Martha's coffee table. He put down his tools with a groan as a headache began rising from his temple, spreading behind his eyes and turning into a full out migraine. A grimace of agony crossed his face as he clutched his head, moaning under his breath as his vision slowly swam into blackness, and he felt himself slide sideways and hit the carpeted floor before he lost consciousness completely.

_He reached out, grasping the jacket, pulling the body to the sidelines as the Arcadian building crumbled under the onslaught of the Dalek bombings. His hands were covered in blood, the smell of burnt fuses and copper filling his nose as he held on, shielding the man from the dust that fell from the ceiling with every strike. The weight in his arms was growing heavier as the air filled with a terrible cacophony of warning klaxons._

_"I don't think we're going to make it out of this one, old friend..." the man in his arms remarked with a wisp of dark_ _humour_ _, coughing as he clutched his hands to the blood-stained hole that the shrapnel had torn into the side of his chest._

_"Don't say that..." His voice choked, and he cursed it for doing so, trying to force a semblance of hope into the despair in his hearts. "Don't you dare say that, you bastard. We're going to win this war, you hear? We're going to win it and we are going to survive it, so that I can go back to hating your guts."_

_The man beneath him smiled weakly, and shook his head, reaching up and grasping the dark fabric of his tunic. "It's truth, though..." he said, his blue eyes dimming. "…promise me one thing, please. Don't let…" He tensed, sucking in a ragged breath as he clutched his chest, blood dribbling from the corner of his mouth. "Koschei, don't let the universe be without a doctor."_

_The Master tightened his grip on the Doctor's hand, so tight his knuckles whitened beneath the stain of crimson blood. "I won't, Doctor, because you're still going to be around."_

_There was no reply from the man at his knees, and something swirled into his chest, a clutching fear. "Doctor?" He shook the man's shoulder, wiped his hand off on the crushed velvet and held it over the Time Lord's mouth._

_No breath brushed his skin._

_The Master took in a shaking breath, leaning back as shock rippled over the pang of grief. The injury had been too severe – damaging the hearts was one of the quickest permanent deaths for a Time Lord. There would be no regeneration. The Doctor had known it._

_A cosmos without the Doctor scarcely warranted consideration._

_The Master reached forward, sliding the eyes of his oldest and best enemy shut, and breathed a sigh, reclaiming his calm façade._

_A sudden beeping from one of the Doctor's pockets startled him, and he admonished himself for jumping before plucking the comm.-device out._

_"Yes?"_

_The face on the screen was that of Lady Romana. She looked shocked. "Master? Where's the Doctor? How did you get his comm.?"_

_He breathed in a slow breath and fished the Doctor's TARDIS key from the same pocket. "The Doctor is dead, I'm afraid. What do you need me to do?"_

 

He woke with a jolt, his breath raggedly heaving to and from his lungs as he stared, wild-eyed at the ceiling. The phantom smell of blood and dust still filled his nose, and his stomach constricted. For a moment, he laid there, willing the nausea to settle.

The television was still on, the flat still dark. From the screen, images of the post-election party were mingling silently around, cameras flashing as Harold Saxon made a speech to an absent audience. His blue eyes flickered around the off-camera crowd, and for a moment, they looked directly at the shivering Time Lord. And though he knew Saxon couldn't see him, he could swear there was a flicker of recognition crossing those eyes, and the faintest of coy smiles drawn across the candidate's lips, before the moment vanished.

He staggered to his feet, and stumbled into the bathroom, drawing a basin of cold water and splashing his face, breathing heavily.

_It was so deceptively simple, and so unwittingly cruel. With a brush of a single button, he unleashed the Eye of Harmony, and he watched with satisfaction as the Dalek ships burned in the skies._

_Then Gallifrey began to burn, and his head split open with the deaths of millions. He screamed and burned in the fires of death and regeneration, within the ship of a dead hero, the pain stripping memory after memory from his mind as he sank to the floor of the TARDIS._

_When he woke, he was completely alone._

His hands gripped the ceramic of the sink as he clenched his teeth, fighting the memories back. No, no-no, it wasn't how it happened. He had woken in ashes in his ship, a new face, a new body, but still the same man.

But it was a lie.

He lifted his eyes to the mirror, and found a stranger staring back at him. The face of the man he wasn't. He had taken his name, his identity, his memories, his ship, and continued on.

He had promised once, to never let the universe be without a Doctor.

"Well…" the Master breathed, softly, feeling his stomach roil as he swallowed, gazing into brown eyes that weren't supposed to be his. "This changes things."


	2. A Shift in Command

"Doctor?"

Martha blinked as she opened the door to her flat. It was completely dark –not a single light on. Odd, because she knew she had left the Doctor working on some device only a few hours ago. He would've kept the lights on, at least to avoid stabbing himself with a sharp object, or setting fire to the sofa trying to solder with the sonic screwdriver.

"Doctor?" she called softly, dropping her keys on the table by the door, and her bag on the floor beneath it. There was no answer. The flat was empty and still, save for the flickering dim light emanating from the television in the next room. Martha smiled slightly - of course; he had probably fallen asleep, she reasoned. Though as she had never seen him sleep regularly, perhaps he had gone out, or back to the TARDIS, and forgotten to switch off the telly. Reasonably logical; her flat was the least interesting place on Earth compared to what he'd seen.

The med student hung up her coat and walked quietly into the sitting room. Her hand went automatically to the light switch.

"Leave it off," a low voice muttered from the couch. Martha jumped, gasping slightly.

"Doctor! You scared the hell out of me," she accused, regaining her normal heart rate. "Did I wake you?"

"No."

Martha hesitated, waiting for the inevitable parade of babbling that usually followed his simple yes-no answers. Excuses for why the lights were off, or for startling her, or even why it all related to the price of bananas in Villengard. But the silhouetted figure was silent.

"Doctor?" Martha questioned again, a concerned look crossing over her face. When she received more silence, she frowned, and walked over to the couch.

The dim wash of the light in the small room cast a sickly pale hue to the Time Lord's skin, giving him a haunted appearance and accenting the curve of his eyes in a worrying way, as if dark circles had become permanent fixtures beneath his normally sparkling brown eyes. As Martha came closer, his eyes shifted their gaze up just barely to look at her, but there was something different about them. They seemed cooler, more calculating, confused – no, troubled. Confused didn't seem to fit the description.

"Are you all right?" Martha asked hesitantly, sitting down on the edge of the couch. The Doctor seemed to mull over a response for a moment, opened, shut his mouth. Then, a small, unsettling half-smile that didn't suit him at all appeared on his lips, and he tilted his head a degree.

"The Doctor's not in right now," he replied, and Martha's mind began muttering a warning at her consciousness. "But I'm sure if you make an appointment, he'll get back to you later."

As the man who was definitely not the Doctor she knew began to chuckle, soft and low, Martha gripped her fingers into the fabric of the sofa, and stood stiffly, backing away. A cold chill settled along her spine and made her arms tingle as the laugh rose in volume, as she watched him leaned his head back against the cushions and giggled mercilessly.

"Doctor you're scaring me," she said softly, keeping her voice steady and not giving the now-screaming voice in her head acknowledgement.

He was still laughing, clutching his arms across his ribs as if in pain as he glanced back at her. "Good!" he giggled, but his breath hitched, and it sounded more like a sob. He clenched his chest tighter. "This is HIS fault, you know, the Doctor, he made me promise. Self-righteous bloody Boy Scout to the universe couldn't… couldn't just… die without dragging me down with him..." His voice changed pitch and another sob left his throat, terrified and bewildered as he sought her eyes out with his own, a plaintive, lost-child gaze. "Martha I think I'm losing my mind."

The little screaming voice was going hoarse and dancing around waving a large sign with big neon letters. "You sound like you're going nuts too," she muttered. "Just, calm down, alright? Take a deep breath. Relax."

Remarkably he did what she told him. He took in a deep breath, the giggles petering away, and let it out shakily, falling silent.

"My head hurts," he finally whispered, staring blankly into the white noise of the muted television screen. "It feels like its splitting open; a big old overripe melon. I've got memories that aren't mine and memories that are definitely mine and yet I can't tell the difference between the two."

"You've been having worse and worse headaches ever since 1913," she said worriedly. "Do you think it might be related to the chameleon arch? Maybe it scrambled your head a bit when you used it, imprinted two sets of memories instead of just the one."

"This is deeper," he denied, his shoulders shivering violently. "I . . . am the Doctor. I have always been and will always be the Doctor. But I'm not the Doctor. I never was. I promised him I would become the Doctor, but the Doctor's dead." The Doctor's fingers curled against his jacket, bunching the fabric with a white-knuckle grip. "He died in my arms, bled to death, the bastard."

If he was talking in the third person, it was definitely a mental problem. Some sort of dissociate disorder…thing…Schizophrenia, maybe; could Time Lords suffer from schizophrenia?

"If you're not the Doctor," Martha said hesitantly, playing along, and he turned his gaze on her, that cold, calculating darkness returning to his eyes, "Then who are you?"

The Doctor didn't seem to hear her. He grabbed her by the shoulders, suddenly frightened and wild-eyed. "Jo! Listen to me, Jo! Can you hear me? You're in danger, get out of here!"

Martha tried to remember if she'd ever read anything about calming lunatics. "No, Doctor, it's Martha. Martha Jones. There's no one here but us. It'll be all right."

"No, it's not all right," this voice was coldly amused. "I'm afraid it's not all right, Miss Grant. I am the Master, you see, and –"

"Jo! This isn't you! You've got to –"

"Obey me! You will obey me!"

"Doctor, stop!" Martha wrenched herself free. "You're scaring me!"

The Doctor kept arguing with himself, his voice changing slipping from coldly to commanding to desperate to furious within the space of a heart-beat. It was fascinating, and more than a little freaky.

"I could just kill her now, barely an effort."

"-No, no. This has already happened. These are my –"

"These are not my memories. I am the Master!"

"No I'm not! I'm not! I am the Doctor!"

Martha's hand found itself flying automatically, striking the man's cheek with a bullwhip crack. He flinched away and turned a blazing cold glare on her.

"Doctor, please!" she begged. "Snap out of it!"

She squeaked in surprise when the Time Lord grabbed her wrist in a firm grip and held it, forcing her to step closer to him.

"Ah!" said a soft, cultured voice, dropping lower as it spoke, into a growl. "Now I can say I was _provoked_!"

Then he blinked, and the Doctor looked back at her from those eyes.

"Well," he said slowly. "I'm fairly sure that one's new."

"Doc…Doctor, let go of my hand," Martha asked, trying to maintain a steady voice and failing. The man blinked, as if he had only just realized he had trapped her, and he let go. She snatched her hand back and rubbed it tenderly, wincing. There would be bruises in the morning. She put a safe foot or two between them and watched him with all the wariness a horse would watch a rattlesnake curled up on the path.

The Time Lord had buried his head in his hands and was shaking uncontrollably. "This is worse than regeneration sickness," Martha heard from his muffled position. "The fool never could program a decent piece of hardware and it figures his bloody machine wouldn't work right."

It was about there that Martha decided she was thoroughly confused. "Regeneration sickness?"

The man-who-was-not-the-Doctor continued talking, oblivious to her presence. "I should've double-checked the chameleon arch before I used it," he berated himself, "stupid! The process was never stable enough to handle. Why I didn't take my own TARDIS for the end I'll never know -"

"What process?"

"- Then with Gallifrey; I should've never gone to Arcadia, it's been nothing but trouble. I should've just fled to the end of the bloody universe-"

"What's Arcadia?"

"- Stuck on bloody Earth with a stupid ape asking stupid questions, worse then the bloody stupid Rani -"

"Would you shut up?!" Martha finally yelled, and the not-Doctor snapped his head up, staring at her. The medical student took a deep breath and lowered her voice to her best calming-rabid-dogs tone. "Thank you."

"No problem," the man muttered absently, still staring at her.

"Now, I want you to explain to me just what is going on," she ordered. "Start from the beginning, and end with right now."

The alien sat up, and leaned back in a very un-Doctorly sprawl, an eyebrow elevating. For a minute Martha didn't think he'd reply. Her own brow knit in a scowl as she noticed the corner of his mouth twitch. The man was laughing at her.

"Don't make me slap you again."

The smirk widened slightly. "If I were myself you'd be dead right now, and I'd be halfway across the universe enjoying Olsthberry rum on Deriaxa."

She glared.

The not-Doctor sighed heavily and angled his head slightly in defeat. "Fine. Martha Jones. The beginning," He paused, and breathed slowly. And then his smirk widened into a nasty grin. "You see, when a mommy Time Lord and a daddy Time Lord love each other VERY much-"

He didn't get much further, recoiling from the sting of her hand. "WHAT?! You asked!"

"YOU KNOW WHAT I BLOODY MEANT!" She shouted back.

Rubbing his cheek sourly, the impostor's smile was gone. "Fine." He sat up and leaned forward, whetting his lips. "The Doctor . . . the true Doctor, the man born as The Doctor, is dead. He has been since the fall of Arcadia."

"So who are you then?"

"The Master," he replied, and arched his head in a more regal posture, eyeing her like something on the bottom of his shoe. "At least, until quite recently."

"What, you just, took over his body?"

The Master chuckled at that. "No Miss Jones, such a task is beneath me now. Were I still absent of regenerations I wouldn't have hesitated, but the Time Lords were good enough to refill my petrol tank, as it were. This is my third body. Though I've spent some time thinking it was my tenth."

Martha sat down on the edge of the couch, staring at him. "Tell me what happened."

The Master sat up and pulled in a breath, squaring his shoulders. "The Doctor was a skilled mechanic, in his time. Not so much intelligent with how something actually fits together, following the instruction manual, but he could make anything from just about anything; a regular galactic MacGyver. Unfortunately he tended to cut corners. When he installed his chameleon arch, he botched the job pretty fairly. When I used it at the end of the war to escape, it tore a fair chunk of my own mind out and chucked it in the bin. It severely hampered my mental prowess, which I would've kept otherwise. As a result my second incarnation, 'the Doctor's' Ninth, had difficulty with the silence in my head." He tapped the side of his temple. "All gone; like a permanent home in a sensory deprivation tank, can you imagine?"

Martha had to admit she couldn't.

"I suppose that's what drove me – him – to Earth. I wasn't looking for a companion, but I found one. And I gave in to what the Doctor would've wanted."

"So, Rose was…"

The Master scoffed, a slight smirk reappearing on his lips and he ducked his head as if embarrassed. "A weakness is all. I am not the sort of man who takes a lover, but I do not deny myself the pleasure of a woman. The Doctor, on the other hand, tended to love everyone he met but kept himself distant. The combination became need, the need became obsession. Had it been anyone else than Miss Rose Ty-ler," he drawled out her name almost mockingly, "I would've acted the same."

He stole a glance in her direction and his smirk broadened at what he saw. "Feeling relieved at that statement, are we Martha?"

Martha felt her cheeks burn as she looked away. He chuckled melodically and sprawled back again, running a hand through his hair.

"What was Arcadia?"

The question was soft but he froze mid-sweep, his eyes fixed ahead. "What?"

"You said he died during Arcadia."

" Arcadia was hell, Miss Jones," he spat succinctly, and she tensed. The Master's eyes had darkened considerably when he finally turned them on her, and the chill returned to her spine. "Former enemies, fighting for all our lives against a common foe… and, ultimately, failing. Arcadia burned long before Gallifrey." The anger seemed to wash out of him with a heavy exhale. "Nothing was safe once the Cruciform project was taken. And I let it happen."

_The Master coughed and groaned, slowly coming back to consciousness, tasting soot and the coppery taste of blood lingering in his mouth. The front of his tunic was warm and damp again, stained darker then black, his blood over the Doctor's. He could feel the source in a throbbing pain on his temple, the dried path itching on his skin. Sulfur and smoke and dust filled the air, the explosion that had rocked the compound having brought the roof down around the occupants of the bunker._

_He rolled to his knees and spat viciously, forcing down the nausea that threatened to overwhelm him as the room spun precariously from the motion. He had been lucky; the worst he had sustained was a head injury, easily healed with a little rest. There would be time to be convalescent when he was safe in his TARDIS._

_The lights overhead flickered weakly, power conduits severed in the blast. He spat again, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth with his sleeve, and climbed to his feet, staggering to the control panel. Mashing a few buttons with his fist did little to rouse the communications systems back to working order, but it felt good._

_"Arcadia to Gallifrey, do you read? This is Cruciform, please respond. Gallifrey, do you read me?"_

_The line crackled with static, remaining dead. The Master swore, slamming his fist onto the console and wincing as he knelt down and began ripping wires out of the base of the computer. Sparks nipped at his fingers as he shorted the circuits._

_If the Daleks wanted this project, they would get it, with his own brand of a warm welcome._

The Master looked away, clenching his hands into fists as his voice flattened out in a dead monotone. "I barely finished the sabotage in time. Daleks are very good with bombs, you know. They took me prisoner and I decided to save my own skin. I gave them the access codes. When it was complete, I activated the virus I'd implanted remotely with the Doctor's sonic screwdriver. In the chaos I escaped." He swallowed. "The Emperor survived, and with the information I'd given him, set on Gallifrey."

Silence enveloped the room. The Master hung his head again.

"I had no love for my people, but Gallifrey itself, she didn't deserve what I wrought upon her."

The words sounded more like the Doctor she knew than the newly cultured tones the Master seemed inclined to, and Martha bit her lip hesitantly. Then, throwing caution to the wind, she slid closer, and wrapped her arms around the man's shoulders.

Instantly she felt him tense underneath her. His fingers curled into tight balls against his body and a low hiss permeated his voice. "What do you think you are doing?"

"I'm hugging you," she replied concisely. "That a problem?"

After a minute, he released a mildly irritated sigh. "No. But a cup of tea would be more helpful."

The Master felt the couch shift slightly, and closed his eyes. Footsteps echoed away from the sitting room, and he was bathed in silence again. Then, after a few minutes, the footsteps returned, and a mug of hot tea was set onto the coffee table in front of him. He straightened up slightly, staring at it in bemusement. "What's this?"

"Tea. Drink it." Martha sat down next to him and folded her arms across her torso.

He elevated an eyebrow at the command, and reached for the mug, eying the contents cautiously. "Didn't think you'd actually get me tea; this is a bribe of some kind, is it? Or some primitive form of assassination? I know a quaint little planet in the Nisos galaxy where they serve tea made from the leaves of a toxic fern."

"You might not be the Doctor, but you're still the same man," Martha said. "And you seem to have the same egotistic view about life you've always had. So you call yourself Doctor, or Master, or Rascal the Cheerful Dalek for all I care. Drink the tea and get the stick out of your…ear."

He regarded her coolly for a moment, and then, conceding the match to her, angled his head minutely in acceptance and, graciously, sipped the tea.

**Ooo-oOo-ooO**

"Come on, old girl, it's me! Remember, your lovable Doctor! See; watch me bounce around causing chaos and mayhem in the name of goodness and love and monotony…Ouch!"

Martha watched from the TARDIS doorway, and sighed. It seems she missed the Doctor –or the Master, as the case may be –and was flatly refusing to take off. It had taken more than a week just to get this far.

"Listen, you antiquated piece of junk," the Master growled in an undertone, "if you don't behave, I am going to take this sonic screwdriver, and –"

A barely discernible change in the TARDIS' background hum told him exactly what he could do with his sonic screwdriver.

"You could always try being nice," Martha pointed out eventually.

"Nice?" the Master looked backwards over his shoulder at her with an arch expression. "My dear Miss Jones, if I tried being nice, I'd end up as nothing more than anyone else. I might even end up like you." His tone made it perfectly clear what he thought of _that_ idea.

That was it. Martha hadn't put up with that sort of stuff from the Doctor, and she sure as heck wasn't taking it from this man.

"Oh sorry," she apologized sweetly. "My mistake; I'd forgotten how well being mean and antisocial had done for you. I mean, look at the means at your disposal!"

She waved an exaggerated hand around the TARDIS. "A space-time machine that doesn't move," she clarified, just in case that had been too subtle for him.

The Master didn't turn and look at her, but she thought she saw his shoulder muscles tense. Before he could say anything, though, the TARDIS changed.

With a flicker and a whine, the backup power lights switched off, replaced with a stronger, more golden-green glow.

"Aha! We've got power! Mickey, we've got…" he paused, shook his head. "Really need to stop doing that. But still! Power!"

Martha clapped. "Well done!" she admitted. "Where are we going first?"

The Master wheeled to face her, his eyes almost popping comically. It gave Martha a momentary pang for the Doctor she had known.

"Why on Gallifrey would I even want a stupid ape tagging along? I suppose you'd be good bait for something, but I don't do the companion thing."

"Maybe not," Martha conceded, "but the Doctor is. And if you leave me behind, he's going to whine and moan and be lonely in the back of your head until you end up picking someone else up."

"Someone like Ro-ose?" the Master asked, drawing out the last word with a wicked grin, just to see her face heat up with a confusing mix of emotions.

"Yes," she said firmly, despite her flaming cheeks. "So you might as well keep me. I'm a trained medical student, I've already got the whole time travel thing down pat –and do you really want to risk picking up someone naive who shrieks like a banshee and twists her ankle by running in high heels?"

He opened his mouth, hesitated – Martha thought he muttered the name Jovanka under his breath – gave her a disgruntled look, and Martha knew she'd won.

"Okay, Martha Jones! Where shall we go then?" he asked, bouncing around the console in a way she knew all too well. " Barcelona! No, wait –tried that, didn't work out too well. Dogs with no noses are all very well and good but –"

"Don't," Martha cut in. "I know what you're doing, and I dunno whether you're trying to be nice or just having a bit of fun at my expense, but just don't."

The Master stopped bouncing – stopped babbling – stopped being the Doctor.

"You're not the Doctor," she said firmly, "and I don't need, or want you to try to be."

Almost imperceptibly, the Master nodded.

"Let's see where random coordinates take us then, shall we?" he asked smoothly. "I always did like games of chance."

The TARDIS, unfortunately, didn't seem to be so keen –and her lack of enthusiasm manifested itself as three days in an alien swamp.

From her room Martha could hear him swearing and cursing the machine far more fluently and frequently than the Doctor ever had. But then, at least he had stopped brooding over Rose. And the TARDIS did finally come to accept him, evil streak and all –which had to be a good thing. They were running out of milk.


	3. A Shift in Perceptions

It was no secret that the TARDIS tended to make journeys a bit rough ever since the Doctor's…transformation, but this was overkill even by his standards.

"Behave! Sodding piece of-OW!" The Master snatched his fingers back as the controls sparked and spat angrily and laid into the console with a rubber mallet. Martha sympathized with the brutalized creature, but at the moment she was just trying to hang on for dear life as the ship pitched and yawned in the Vortex. The engines were making a worrisome keening noise that sounded rather like a dying animal.

"What's wrong with her?" she yelled over the din.

"Doesn't want to land," was the snarled response as the Master yanked down on the stabilizer and pitched forward into the computer screen as the ship lurched. "Some fool thing's got her spooked."

"I don't suppose that's a good reason she's refusing to, and we should find someplace else to set down?" Martha suggested, gritting her teeth as her stomach gave a sickening leap. "Where's our destination?"

"Only in bloody Cardiff!" the pilot replied. An air of superiority lit up his face as the TARDIS finally gave in and moaned, the materialization sequence sounding sick and reluctant as they dropped out of the Vortex. "That's better. Honestly, all we're doing is a fuel-up. Infernal outdated capsule." The Master rapped his fist on one of the struts as the materialization sequence finished with a thump and grinned triumphantly over at his companion. Martha groaned and relaxed her hold on the captain's chair, doubling over as she pulled deep breaths, quelling her nausea.

The grin turned to alarm. "You're not going to be sick, are you?" he demanded.

"Nice of you to care," Martha muttered.

"Care? Miss Jones, if I ever have the concern for your health you like to think I do, that's the day I dress in drag and do the hula in the middle of the Panopticon." He scowled, setting the handbrake. "I just don't want you gumming up the works with your breakfast, which I might remind you cost me a pretty penny."

"It was your idea to go to Tynar's Burgers in the Jixtom system," she replied archly. "I wanted to go to Milliways."

"Seen one end of the universe, you've seen them all," the Time Lord muttered. "If you're going to be sick, find a bucket. Why wouldn't she want to land in Cardiff? What'd she sense?" He raked his hand through his hair in frustration and stared at the computer, as if it held all the answers. "What am I forgetting?"

Martha watched him mutter to himself for a little while before she sighed and picked up her coat, walking stiffly to the door. It garnered his attention immediately. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Out for some fresh air; that is if we are actually in Cardiff," she teased.

"Oh." And just like that, his attention span shifted. "Don't be long; it'll only be a few minutes."

"Be back in less," she replied, and opened the door.

**Ooo-oOo-ooO**

The cool sea breeze coming off the bay ruffled the stray strands of her hair and Martha felt instantly better. She leaned against the railing, staring out over the water.

"Beautiful day," offered a voice from behind.

Martha glanced towards the sky and squinted. It was overcast and gray. "Not really," she answered, and turned her head to see who had spoken. A foot or two down the railing, a young man in a military greatcoat was propped against the wall, watching the waves break against the docks. He smiled.

"I suppose it's one of those things you get used to," he joked, and she was surprised to hear American tones.

"Tourist?" she ventured, tilting her head. He mimicked her movement with a quirky grin.

"Nope," His head turned towards the centre of the plaza, to the foot of the fountain where the TARDIS was sitting, and Martha realized he could SEE it, parked and shielded with the perception filter on the paving stones. "You're the new companion?"

The doctor was momentarily speechless. "Uh…"

"Well, either that or you've regenerated again, Doctor," the American continued, his eyes raking her from head to toe in a way Martha felt she should be offended by, but couldn't seem to muster the willpower. "I like it. Tall dark and brooding was more my style, though."

"I'm not –" Martha started, stumbling over her surprise. "Well, I mean I am a doctor, but I'm not _the_ Doctor." She paused. "Then again he's not him either…" she trailed off. "It's a little confusing, to be honest."

"Regeneration can be a pain in the synapses," her companion agreed, and stepped closer, offering a hand. "Captain Jack Harkness."

"Martha Jones," she answered, taking it with some trepidation. "What do you mean regeneration?"

"It's this thing they do, Time Lords, when they die…" Jack paused, and gave her a sheepish grin. "But when you meant he wasn't himself, you didn't mean that, did you?"

"I'm afraid not," Martha said, narrowing her eyes and stepping away. "Look, Captain, I don't know who you are or what you want with the Mas-the Doctor, but if you'll excuse me, I need to get back." She pushed past him, heading for the TARDIS. A firm hand grabbed her arm.

"I'm afraid I can't let you go, Miss Jones. I need to speak with the Doc, and I have a feeling he'll just fly off if I let you go back," Jack apologized, marching her towards the blue box. He knocked sharply on the door.

"Come on, Martha," the Master's voice sounded irritated. "That Rift's been active recently –it won't take long to charge the TARDIS up properly…any longer and she'll probably get indigestion, it'd be her style…"

The captain pushed his way inside, his eyes widening as he took in the console room –but not, Martha thought –with any sort of amazement or incredulity. He looked more like someone who has found something they thought they'd lost forever.

"Oh, no no-no-no," the Master emerged from behind the time rotor wiping his hands on a rag. "I refuse to let you bring one-night stands onto this ship, Martha. You want to do something unhygienic and messy, you do it…somewhere…" he trailed off as his brown eyes met the captain's blue.

"Oh...great," The Master sighed dramatically and rolled his eyes. "It's the freak."

Jack blinked. Whatever he had been expected, it wasn't this. "Doctor?" he asked disbelief in every line of his face.

The Master cocked his head sideways. "We-ell," he said, in a tone Martha found almost painfully reminiscent of the Doctor, "it is, and then again," he waggled his eyebrows, "it isn't."

"You've regenerated," jack tried to recover his stride, but Martha could see the 'freak' comment had shaken his previous self-confidence.

The Master was enjoying himself now. He leaned closer. "All that," he whispered, "and more besides, Captain Jack Harkness."

"You left me behind," the captain was obviously trying not to let the sudden closeness of the Master throw him off. "On the Games Station – you just left me there."

The Master raised an eyebrow. "What else would I have done?"

Jack stared at him. "What?" he asked, urgency and a need to believe in his voice. "What are you talking about?"

The Master was circling him now – long, lazy steps that didn't so much eat distance as make it shrink. He slid across the floor like a Cockney-accented, freckled, and extremely dangerous big cat.

"I could feel it from the minute you came back to life," the Master said quietly. "All that time and space and change and flux running through the temporal sphere – and in the middle of it, you: a fixed point. A fact," He stepped back, "An abomination."

"You mean how I can't die?"

Martha gasped. "You can't-" she started to say, but the Master cut across her.

"Give the little boy a big cigar!" he announced, clapping soundlessly. "Do you have any idea how much it hurts just to look at you? Just to see you standing there, and know that you will be there the next day and the next and the next, until the universe pulls itself down around our ears?"

The captain either didn't care, or else had more important things to worry about than simple rudeness.

"How did it happen?" he asked, and to Martha's astonished eyes, he almost seemed to be begging. "Will I ever be able to die?"

The Master flicked ostentatiously at a fleck of dust on his sleeve. "No chance," he said dismissively. "That was Rose's doing. Stupid ape looked into the heart of the TARDIS – brainless thing to do, but that was Rose all over, wasn't it? Brought you back to life – but ballsed it up, of course; brought you back for good. Still, got rid of the Daleks, so there's a silver lining to every cloud, I suppose."

Jack's face darkened, but all he said was. "Where is Rose? I saw the names of the dead - it said 'Rose Tyler'."

The Master sniffed. "Oh, I couldn't have killed her with a nuclear bomb in the head. She's trapped on a parallel Earth somewhere –being 'domestic', I suppose," he smiled like a shark, or a jaguar, "didn't think I was ever going to get rid of her."

That was when Jack broke his nose.

There was a lot of shouting then, and it was never quite clear in Martha's mind: yelling and fighting, and a storm of greatcoat and whirling fists, and finally –someone running for the door, closing it with an enormous slam. But that hadn't been Jack, Martha had somehow known. That had been the TARDIS, making her feelings on the matter perfectly clear.

The next time they needed to refuel, the Master took them to the rift in Paris.

**Ooo-oOo-ooO**

"I never saw the appeal of these things," Martha remarked, staring at the time-worn statue outside the window with the disinterest of boredom. "They just sit out in the garden and attract spiders and mould and stains, and you can't clean them properly once the plants grow up around them."

"Mm," the Master responded, not even pretending to listen as he slowly swept the scanner around the dilapidated room in Wester Drumlins.

Martha sighed slightly. They had been en route to some pleasure planet called Midnight when the TARDIS had picked up abrupt fluctuation in the time stream and chosen to detour on her own power. The Master had been tight-lipped as to what exactly he was scanning for, and that had been several hours ago.

_"I won't bother explaining it to a primitive mind," he sniffed, "You wouldn't understand it anyways."_

_"That just means you don't know either," Martha replied. "Dumb it down."_

_He stared at her as if the very idea was akin to stepping in a dog's leavings and laughed disdainfully._ "Dumb down _the mechanics of Rassilon's third theory of temporal-spatial quantum energy transference?"_

_"I don't know – make something up. Wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey; you're finding the polarity of a neutron; BS it."_

_"That's the most absurd thing I've ever heard. Wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey. If that's what they're teaching in your medical school these days it's no wonder your planet is so backward."_

Life with him was certainly…different. Once, when they landed on a backwards planet in the middle of a political uprising, she had thought she knew what he was going to do – well she guessed she had pretty fair ideas, anyway. The Doctor would've leapt straight into the fray and told her the plan as he made it up on the spot.

The Master seemed to prefer to plan something out in careful detail, and only told her what was need-to-know. It was infuriatingly condescending in her opinion – until the rebels kidnapped her for information, and she had nothing to say.

She had learned that day the Master had a possessive approach to his companions –once the Alliance equivalent of black-ops had rescued her safe and sound, he had razed their encampment to the ground without a blink.

It wasn't the differences that threw Martha, but the similarities to the Doctor she'd known. He didn't do the random streams of consciousness babble. He cast cool, disapproving glares instead of disappointed sadness if he was displeased with something Martha had done or said, and his favour wasn't easily won. But he still took his tea the same, and she'd caught him in the act of licking something once or twice. And, she suspected, even with a new sardonic hue to his lectures, he still enjoyed explaining something technical to her if she was a willing student. She was exactly that now: not a companion, or a friend, but a student and assistant.

But more often, he'd clam up entirely, and she was back to being the pet ape he begrudgingly put up with for the sake of the parts of the Doctor that still resided in his memories.

Martha turned away from the somewhat creepy little cherub statuette and wandered further into the house. It was musty and cold, light filtering through the grimy windows, an occasional pure ray of sunlight shining through a shattered pane, making the dust she disturbed glitter and dance as it floated carelessly through the beam.

The medical student turned a corner and stopped, somewhat shaken. At the end of the hall, another angel statue stood on a pedestal. One hand was raised, thrown over the eyes in a swooning posture, as if it were saying, "oh woe is I, to be stuck here for eternity."

Martha sympathised.

"Whoever lived here had creepy taste in decorations," she muttered, frowning. The hallway itself was in no better shape than the rest of the house; the ancient wallpaper was peeling away quite dramatically from the stone. She looked closer.

There was writing underneath the wallpaper.

DO

Curiosity had her reaching up to grab the hanging corner and she slowly pulled the paper off. It made a terrific ripping sound, as more of the message was revealed.

DON'T BLINK. WATCH

"Don't blink?" Martha ripped down more of the paper.

WATCH THE ANGELS. MARTHA JONES, TURN AROUND. NOW!

Martha took a step back in shock. The message was for HER. She twisted, felt stone-cold claws close around her arms, preventing her from following the wall's instructions.

"Doc-!"

And then she was somewhere else.

**Ooo-oOo-ooO**

The shout made the Master growl and he shoved the scanner into the pocket of his pinstriped black jacket. Infuriating child; what was it now? "If you're going to refer to me by HIS name, don't insult us both and contract it to 'Doc'!" he barked, storming out of the room and into the hall.

There was no sign of his companion. The storm clouds on his face darkened. "Martha!" _Leave the ape alone for five minutes and she engages in property vandalism_. The hall was littered with large scraps of paper. He scowled.

"Martha! Marth-" he stopped, staring at the message on the wall. His brow furrowed.

"Watch the angels Martha Jones."

Synapses fired, connections were made, and realization came faster than his hearts could cycle. He spun around, and recoiled; the innocent angel statue that had perched at the end of the hall was suddenly looming over him, a demonic snarl distorting its features. In its stone fingers, a very familiar key was hanging by its chain.

"Oh no you don't," the Master growled, grabbing the key and yanking it from the angel's grasp, glaring intently at the sculpture. Weeping Angels, the only quantum-locked beings capable of generating such anomalies in the time stream – he should've known as soon as he'd received the readings. And Martha had been taken.

"I know the way this game is played," he told the frozen statue, slowly backing away down the hall. "You can't move unless I look away. Clever defence mechanism, very clever, but you've taken the wrong person, my friend. I'm going to get Miss Jones back, and then I am coming back here and ensuring you NEVER darken my shadow again." He paused, and studied the statue. "But I've missed something. You fellows are rarely alone. You like to travel in packs, don't you? Wolves of the universe."

There was a rustle of movement behind him. The Master smirked and straightened up.

"Oh...very clever."

And then he was somewhere else.


End file.
